ng behind boulders, but Firmstone
was not in sight, and strength and courage returned. Her bucket swept up
over the crest of the Falls, and her heart stood still, as it glided
along swiftly, eating up the level distance to another rise. The saddle
clipped over the sheave, swung for an instant, then stood still. She
clambered out, down the low tower, then sped to the trail and waited.

She rose to her feet, as from behind a sheltered cliff Firmstone
emerged, stern, erect, determined. He caught sight of Elise.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, fiercely.

"To keep you from going to the mill." There was an answering fierceness
in her eyes.

"Well, you are not going to." He brushed her aside.

"I am." She was again in his path.

He took hold of her almost harshly.

"Don't be a fool."

"Am I? Listen." There was the glint of steel on steel in the meeting
eyes. Echoing shots dulled by distance yet smote plainly on their ears.
"Morrison's men are guarding the trail. They are in the canon. You can't
get through."

Firmstone's eyes softened as he looked into hers. The set line broke for
an instant, then he looked down the trail. Suddenly he spun around on
his heel, wavered, then sank to the ground.

Elise dropped on her knees beside him, mumbling inaudible words with
husky voice. The hands that loosened the reddening collar of his shirt
were firm and decided. She did not hear the grate of Zephyr's shoes. She
was only conscious of other hands putting hers aside. His knife cut the
clothes that hid the wound. Zephyr took his hat from his head.

"Water," he said, holding out the hat.

Elise returned from the brook with the brimming hat. The closed eyes
opened at the cooling drops.

"It's not so bad." He tried to rise, but Zephyr restrained him.

"Not yet."

Elise was looking anxiously above the trail. Zephyr noted the direction.

"No danger. 'Twas Morrison. He's done for."

Three or four miners were coming down the trail. They paused at the
little group. Zephyr looked up.

"You're wanted. The old man's hit."

A litter was improvised and slowly and carefully they bore the wounded
man down the trail. Zephyr was far in advance. He returned.

"It's all right. The gang's on the run."

The little procession headed straight for the office, and laid their
burden on the floor.

The company surgeon looked grave, as he carefully exposed the wound. To
Elise it seemed ages.

Finally he spoke.

"It's a nasty woun